


Rock, Blowtorch, Scissors.

by Basingstoke



Category: Fantastic Four (Movieverse)
Genre: Alien Sex, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-08
Updated: 2006-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guys have needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock, Blowtorch, Scissors.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Zee for the beta! And for making me write this. It was fun. :D

*

"Come on, bro," Johnny said.

This idea was seeming dumber and dumber by the minute. Ben stopped in the doorway. "Wait."

"Shit," Johnny said, turning around and shoving Ben's hand until Ben lifted the beaker to his mouth again. "Keep drinking. This is a necessary thing."

Ben drank down the gasoline, thinking this was fucked up. It hit him hard. High octane. Good stuff. Beer didn't work any more, but this did. "You're a pal," Ben said.

"Good! Keep drinking! No backing out!" Johnny beckoned him into the heavy equipment room and Ben followed, starting to list a little.

He didn't fuck up the floor any more. They'd strengthened the whole building for him. Good pals, all of them. Good guys, even Johnny, who was a total dick. "You're an asshole, but you're a good pal," Ben said deliberately.

Johnny gave him the double thumbs-up. "Keep that up!"

"Drink until this seems like a good idea," Ben repeated, and downed more of the gasoline.

Johnny rooted through Reed's tools. "Are you drunk enough to get naked?" he asked.

Ben looked at the beaker, drained it, and broke his belt buckle with his thumb. His pants fell around his ankles. "Yeah."

"Blue balls will kill you, man. It's no good. You have to get *well.*" Johnny looked him over. "Damn. Now that is a dick."

Ben would have blushed if he could. He bent down, but couldn't pick his pants back up. His clumsy fingers scrabbled against the floor.

"Hey! Quit it! Naked! Here," Johnny said, stripping out of his clothes in two seconds flat, flinging them at a chair. "Two guys, guys being guys! It's like bonding!"

"You got some weird ideas about bonding," Ben said, not quite looking at Johnny's nakedness.

Johnny shrugged. "I was on the water polo team. Come on. We've got work to do here." He put his arm around Ben's shoulders--as far as he could reach, anyway--and Ben sighed and stepped out of his pants.

Kid had a point. Going six months without an orgasm wasn't healthy.

He just didn't have the feeling any more. He was wired different--hell, he got drunk off gasoline now. His dick was the same stone as the rest of him. He couldn't approach a lady with that thing. She'd--he didn't even want to think about it.

So Johnny was helping him out, because he was a pal. He scored the high-octane. He said he had some ideas, and they involved Reed's tools.

Weird as it was, Ben was game. Six months was a long, long time. "They tried that stuff before," he said, "and nothing could hurt me."

"I don't want to hurt you, bro!" Johnny picked up a file. "Lay down over there. I got an idea."

The file bent against Ben's chest without him feeling a thing, and so did the hammer, and the belt sander, and the crowbar. "I could feel the crowbar," Ben said.

"Technique, technique," Johnny muttered.

The x-ray machine didn't do anything, but the microwave emitter felt kind of good. Warm. "Huh," Ben said.

"Yeah?" Johnny asked.

"Kinda," Ben said.

Johnny scratched his head. "Huh."

The blowtorch was more like it, except that looking at it creeped Ben out. "Yeah--uh--kinda--lower?"

Johnny switched it off. "You're flinching."

"I worked construction in high school," Ben sighed. "You can really fuck yourself up with those."

"Yeah? But you're not scared of me when I flame on." Johnny snapped his fingers and sent a ball of fire bouncing from fingertip to fingertip.

"Nah. It's you. You're alive, not a machine."

"Huh." Johnny put the blowtorch back and stood at the table for a minute, fingering a chain mail glove. Johnny had back, that was for damn sure, and--Ben looked up at the ceiling.

"It'll work if I close my eyes," Ben said.

"So close your eyes, bro," Johnny said, and Ben did.

Johnny turned the heat up. He ran it down Ben's chest to his thighs, back up, back down, up and down and hot on his dick, finally, and the blowtorch didn't feel anything like pussy but it was still pretty good.

"Yeah," Ben muttered. He couldn't help it. He opened his eyes for a second.

Shit. Wasn't Johnny using a blowtorch on him, it was Johnny straddling him, all on fire. He flickered yellow on his back and white-hot on his hands, softening Ben's skin wherever he touched. Making him tingle. Shit.

"Shit," Ben said.

"Hey, friends do for each other. Come on. Better than a blowtorch," Johnny said, and he flared white from his crotch--from his dick, whatever--and rubbed on Ben and Jesus, that felt good.

He couldn't figure out if this made him gay. Or maybe, maybe this was like prison, where you got a blow job from a guy because that's all there was, and you weren't gay, you just had needs.

Ben touched Johnny's thighs lightly. Shit, he wasn't drunk enough for this, but he didn't care. He'd turn gay if he could just goddamn come. Johnny was getting him there, yeah, Johnny was the only one who could touch him. Johnny was crouched over him, pulsing yellow and white flames over both their bodies.

"Shit," Ben moaned, and Johnny answered him with a "hell, yeah."

The heat started to feel like fingers. It was like he could feel it stroking at him. He let it; it was *good* like he hadn't felt in a real long time.

"Do it," Johnny said, "come on, do it, now, come on..." He flared up white and blue.

When Ben panted out breath, heat waves danced over his face like on the highway in the summer. He was burning up. His spine. His spine was burning and that was the best goddamn thing--his spine, his balls burned like a furnace--"Come on me," Johnny said, and Ben grabbed the edges of the table so hard the metal crumpled like paper in his fists.

Johnny rode him like a bronco as he came like a goddamn volcano erupting. "Ben! Yeah! Yeah!" Johnny shouted.

By the end of it, he could cry, he was so relieved. Johnny had one hand on Ben's chest and the other at his dick, still pulsing white-hot. He shot little strips of napalm across Ben's stomach, making him twitch with aftershocks.

"That was cool," Johnny said. The fire died down until he was just a regular naked guy. "Dude. You feel like hot sand," he said, sprawling across Ben's chest. Ben rested his hands on Johnny's back gently.

"Mm," Johnny said. "You wanna do that again in a minute?"

Ben could feel his skin hardening up again. He felt kind of stretched out, like a rubber band, but... "Gimme five?"

"Yeah, sure." Johnny grinned and wiggled until his ass was under Ben's hands. The table pinged once, groaned, and collapsed underneath them, landing them ass over teakettle in the twisting, warping metal.

The End.


End file.
